


The Perks of Balconing

by TheFreakZone



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hungary (Hetalia) - Freeform, M/M, Russia (Hetalia) - Freeform, Scotland (Hetalia) - Freeform, also starring: - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-07-06 15:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15888834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFreakZone/pseuds/TheFreakZone
Summary: While on vacation in Spain, Arthur gets very drunk and gets injured in a sadly common way. His doctor, an infuriatingly handsome and charming Spaniard, is more than tired of dealing with idiotic tourists. Throw in the mix a corny French nurse and an even more idiotic German, and watch as madness unfolds. (SpUK)





	1. Angel Of The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended to be a one-shot, but then... Idk, I decided not to ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I'm totally improvising this as I write, so I don't know how often I'll update or how long it'll be. Just enjoy the madness.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia
> 
> Disclaimer 2: balconing has no perks at all please don't jump off balconies

 

* * *

 ** _Balconing:_ ** _Act of jumping into a swimming pool from a balcony or falling from height while climbing from one balcony to another in hotels during holidays._

* * *

 

**THE PERKS OF BALCONING**

**1. Angel Of The Morning (Juice Newton)**

If Arthur were asked to name his biggest flaw, he’d say, without a doubt, that he didn’t make good decisions when he was under the influence of alcohol. As opposed to his siblings, he couldn’t handle his alcohol well (Alistair mocked him a lot for that), and his rational mind easily became completely clouded by a fog of “let’s do something stupid, it’ll be fun!”

That summer, his mistake was not refusing the offer of a night of drinks in his hotel room. Back then, it hadn’t seemed a bad idea. He was on vacation, after all, and what was vacation for if not to do what he would otherwise feel bad for doing?

So he drank with his friends (and his brother), and maybe he downed one too many glasses filled with whatever hellish alcoholic combination Alistair had prepared, and maybe he got pissed to the point of no return.

When he stumbled outside the room and into the balcony, desperately needing some fresh air, a white placard on the wall caught his eye:

_Recordamos a los señores clientes_

_que está estrictamente prohibido_

_saltar a la piscina desde el balcón._

_Clients are reminded_

_that it’s strictly forbidden_

_to jump to the pool from the balcony._

He blinked, slowly processing the information he was reading. _Jump to the pool from the balcony_. He leant over the railing to look at the pool: it was close and so blue and very tempting.

One thought flashed through his mind:

 _This is going to be hilarious_.

“H-Hey, Alistair!”—hic—“Record this!” he called as he climbed over the railing.

Arthur still had time to hear his brother yelling an insult at him before jumping.

He closed his eyes before the impact.

~{§}~

When he opened them again, everything was white. So, so white. And he was floating in a soft cloud, smoothly rocking back and forth, and he could hear the faint sound of a choir, and that was Heaven. It had to be.

“ _Baby you’re all that I want…_ _Du du du du du du du du…_ _I’m in Heaven_ ,” he slurred the Brian Adams song, his tongue dry and heavy in his mouth.

Then he saw the angel.

It was the most beautiful creature Arthur had ever laid eyes on. He was clad all in white, a long tunic perfectly adjusting to his figure. His hair was dark brown, as if God had selected the most delicious shade of chocolate and had poured it on him, and it looked so soft that Arthur wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through it. The angel leant closer to him, smiling the most beautiful smile ever smiled, his eyes big and greener than Ireland on Saint Patrick’s, and his voice was clear like a celestial bell when he said:

“Ah, you’re awake!”

“You… You…” Arthur mumbled, knowing what he wanted to say but not sure how to voice it.

“Yes?” the angel smiled a little wider, his eyes glimmering.

 _Daaaaaaamn_.

“Let’s sin together and I’ll ride you down to Hell.”

Stunned, the angel dropped his jaw as a loud, obnoxious laugh was heard somewhere in the background. Well… that had been an inappropriate thing to say, hadn’t it? Arthur hoped he wouldn’t get kicked out of Heaven for it. It’d be such a shame. Though perhaps he wouldn’t mind too much if that beauty did, indeed, fall to Hell with him. He was even willing to let him land on him. He’d let the angel step on his face, if asked.

“Um…” the angel said, appearing to be over his stupor. He didn’t talk to Arthur, but his eyes never left him as he called: “Francis—Francis, can you come here for a sec?”

Arthur heard footsteps, and caught a glimpse of fiery red hair as a second angel (also good-looking, but nowhere near as gorgeous as the first one) walked into his field of vision to discuss something with the other.

That was odd.

Because that fiery red hair belonged to Alistair, he was sure of it (he’d recognize that mess anywhere), and that couldn’t be because: a) his brother, as far as he knew, was still alive — unless he had jumped after him in a desperate display of brotherly love, which he highly doubted; and b) when Alistair Kirkland died, he’d be _rotting in Hell like the goddamn bastard he was_ (and also because he was a redhead and it’s widely known that redheads don’t have souls, as Arthur loved to remind him).

The second angel, whose silky hair was long and blonde, snickered at whatever the epitome of perfection had told him and glanced at Arthur with deep-blue eyes. “My fault, Toni,” he admitted, friendly patting the first angel’s shoulder. “My fault.”

“Heeeeey,” Arthur breathed out. “Don’t touch my angel,” he slurred, feeling sleepy again. “Mine,” he growled as his eyes fell closed.

Before sleep took him, he had time to hear that same laugh from before again, this time accompanied by Alistair’s evil, evil cackle.

~{§}~

When Arthur woke up for the second time, he was lucid enough to recognize that he was in a hospital. The clean white of the walls would have been indication enough, but there were other clues, like the bed that wasn’t his, the IV on his wrist, or the professional plaster on his left leg.

…

_What the fuck??_

Arthur tried to speak, call someone, but his mouth was dry and words wouldn’t make it out. All he managed to emit was a strangled sound, some sort of _blergh_ that would have been _very_ embarrassing, had someone been there with him.

Turned out, there _was_ a someone.

First there was a quiet _pfffft_ , as if someone was trying to hold back a laugh; and then there was a loud _HAHAHAHAHA_ , as if said someone had failed. The laugh came from his right and was followed by an amused voice: “Good morning, sleeping beauty! The doctor isn’t here right now, but he should come back soon. You’ll have the chance to compliment him some more in a little while.”

All Arthur could say in reply was a confused “…what?” His neck ached, but he managed to turn it enough to take a look at whoever was laughing at his disgrace.

It was a guy around his age whose grey hair contrasted with the mischievous look in his eyes. He was pale… or used to be, before the Spanish sun had given him a lesson about falling asleep under it. Now his face, ears and neck were crab-red, but he didn’t seem to be very fazed by that. Sure enough, he had bigger problems: like Arthur, he was lying in a hospital bed with his leg in a cast, and he also presented a purple eye, broken nose and split lip.

“My name is Gilbert Beilschmidt,” his roommate introduced himself. The accent had already given him away, but the name confirmed it: German. “It seems we’re both stupid tourists who injure themselves by doing idiotic things — I think we’ll get along.”

“I’m Arthur Kirkland,” he mumbled back, deciding to ignore the insults.

“Yes, I know. Your brother told us.”

“Alistair’s been here? And wait, who’s _us_?”

“ _Us_ is me, the doctor and the nurse, of course. You’ve already met them.”

“… I have?”

Gilbert’s eyes opened wide in surprise for a split second before regaining that impish glint. “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t remember…” he chuckled.

“What don’t I remember?” Arthur asked, slightly panicked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gilbert waved his hand dismissively. “They’re good people, I tell you. They’re going slow on me to give me more time.”

“More time?”

Grinning like a naughty kid, Gilbert raised his right hand, showing that it was cuffed to the hospital bed.

 _Oh my God I’m sharing a room with a criminal_ , Arthur thought in paranoia. “W-What did you do?” he asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Ah! Well, you see, it’s all because of a girl.”

“A girl?”

“Uh huh. So I left my hotel room and went partying, ‘cause that’s what you do when you’re on vacation _in Spain_ , right?”

“Right.”

“And I drank a lot. Like, a lot. But I’m German, so that’s a given. Anyway, I went into this club and there I met Eliza. Boy, she was _awesome_! We drunk some more, and we danced, and then went to one of this arcade games places, and they had one of those punching bags, you know what I mean, those that measure your strength, yeah? So I was like, _oh this is the perfect chance to impress this girl_ , so I punched it, and she laughed and said, _I’m going to crush you, Beilschmidt_ , and for some reason I thought it was hot that she called me by my surname? Anyway! She punched the punching bag and she kinda doubled my score and by then I was like, _I want to marry you_ , but I was also super pissed, so when I went to kiss her and propose, I _accidentally_ kissed and proposed to someone else. And that someone else happened to be this huge, _huge_ Russian dude. But, like, he was mega-huge, man, I’m sure he wrestles bears as a pastime in Mother Russia. Anyway, Vladimir — I don’t know his real name, so I call him Vladimir — didn’t like _at all_ that I had kissed him and proposed, so he punched me straight in the face. Then he kicked me. And then punched me again. Then I was like, _whoa, dude, I’m being beat up and that’s so un-awesome_ , so I started punching back. I’m pretty sure he, too, was ultra-drunk. That fight must’ve been worth watching, heh. Anyway, it got pretty bad, we broke a lot of stuff—my leg included—and in the end the police came. Not the band, I mean the actual police. And they arrested us, but I was so injured they had to take me here, so they left me with these beautiful handcuffs so I wouldn’t escape. Oh, some advice for you: if a policeman ever handcuffs you to a hospital bed, don’t joke about BDSM. They have no sense of humour and will threaten to fine you. And that’s the awesome story of how I ended up in here! But, as I was saying, the doc and the nurse are very good people and they like me, so they’re kinda buying me some time so that my brother, who’s a lawyer, can fight the system and get me out of this mess. Ain’t it great?”

Arthur blinked, slowly processing all the information he had just been told. “That’s…” _Crazy. Nuts. Insane._ _Given me a headache_.

“Impressive. Yes, I know.”

‘Impressive’ was not the word Arthur would use, or at least not with that positive tone. He really didn’t know how to label the story, but one thing was for sure: that man was a lunatic.

Thankfully, a third person entering the room saved him from answering. It was a young man — a nurse, Arthur guessed from the clothes — with long, blonde hair that he kept in a ponytail, striking blue eyes, and the shade of a growing beard on his chin. His nametag read “Francis”.

“Good morning, Gilbert! How are we today?” he chirped; and then, not even giving the German the chance to reply, turned all his attention to Arthur. “Oh, you’re up! It’s nice to see you awake again.”

“ _Again_?” Arthur asked. Gilbert had mentioned he had already met the doctor and the nurse… but the blond’s pretty face was completely unknown to him.

“Yes?” Francis blinked, confused. “Oh, you—you don’t remember?” He shared a quick glance with Gilbert. “Oh my God.”

“What? What don’t I remember?” Arthur demanded to know. He was starting to get stressed, and the clear amusement in Francis and Gilbert’s eyes wasn’t helping.

“I guess I owe you an explanation… and an apology,” Francis laughed. “You woke up yesterday in the afternoon, but I, um, let’s say I had given you one too many doses of painkillers, and you were a teeny tiny bit high.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, you were totally hallucinating, man,” Gilbert snickered from his bed. “You hit on the doctor and called him an angel.”

“ _Excuse me_?!”

“You totally did!” the German went on, ignoring the mortified look on Arthur’s face. “Hey—best pick-up line I ever heard.”

“W-What did I say?” Arthur stuttered, dreading the answer.

Francis and Gilbert looked at each other again, and this time neither could hold back a laugh.

~{§}~

Every year. _Every single year_.

As summer approached, it wasn’t uncommon for the hospital personnel to start taking bets: When would the first case be? How many stupid Brits would be brought in with broken bones and too much alcohol in their veins? Would there be any deaths?

It was almost a tradition by then—yet Antonio never took part in it. He had quickly grown tired of, year after year, receiving injured tourists under his care; tourists who came to Spain with the sole purpose of getting pissed and then, for some reason he still hadn’t figured out, jumped from the hotel balcony into the pool… with disastrous results.

The press called it _balconing_.

Antonio preferred the term _natural selection_.

That year they had gotten only one case, so far. A young man who, following the classical scheme, had gotten drunk in his hotel room and then had attempted to jump at the pool. He had been very lucky to make it out with only a broken leg.

“I’d always known Arthur was an idiot, but I never would have expected this,” the patient’s older brother had said through a thick Scottish accent, shaking his head in disappointment at the bed where the Brit laid unconscious.

An idiot, yes, but a funny one. It wasn’t every day that Antonio was called an angel out of the blue. He had had to scold Francis for his little mistake, but what he couldn’t deny was that seeing Arthur hallucinating had been _very_ amusing. (The brother had later asked in jest if they happened to have some of those painkillers on sale. Antonio had replied that not for English tourists, lest they came up with something even stupider than jumping off balconies.)

He was precisely walking to Arthur’s room for a check when he heard a loud, obnoxious laugh he had come to know as Gilbert’s. (Another idiotic tourist, but a whole different case. Antonio quite liked him.) The nurses, patients and relatives who were roaming the corridor stared in question to the half-open door of room 314, from where the thunderous laughter came. Antonio smiled at them and shrugged apologetically before walking in.

He first saw Gilbert, who was pressing his free hand to his moth to try and quieten his laugh.

Then he looked at Francis, who was biting his lip in an attempt at not bursting out laughing.

And then he noticed Arthur.

The good news was that he was awake. The bad news was that he was so pale he looked like he might faint at any time.

“What’s all the hubbub about?” Antonio asked, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. Francis waved his hand as if saying _I’ll tell you later_ , and Antonio decided not to pry any further. Instead, he turned to Arthur and introduced himself. “It’s nice to see you awake. I’m Doctor Fernández—or simply Antonio, if you want,” he smiled, friendly, as he reached for a handshake.

It took Arthur a moment to react, and when he did, he moved too fast: his hand collided with Antonio’s, pushing it away; then, panicking, he attempted to grab it for a shake, but all he managed to capture was a single finger, which he barely wiggled before dropping it.

Flabbergasted, Antonio watched in awe how all the blood return to Arthur’s face, tinting it the darkest red he’d ever seen on a human being — including Gilbert’s sunburn.

“O—kay,” he chuckled awkwardly. “I think I’d better leave and come back later.”

“That’ll be for the best, yes,” Francis snickered, discretely wiping a tear away.

~{§}~

The moment the doctor and nurse left the room, Arthur groaned and buried his face on his hands. “I want to die,” he whined.

“So this is what it feels like to be the receptor and not the source of second-hand embarrassment…” Gilbert mumbled in thought from his bed.

Arthur ignored him.

Knowing that he had been high and hallucinating was bad. Learning that he had hit on his doctor while drugged was even worse. Meeting said doctor and realizing he was actually _freaking smoking hot_ was the worst.

He really, really wanted to die.

“How long does it take a broken leg to heal?” he asked in despair.

Gilbert laughed. “You still have a while here, kiddo,” he sneered.

“This is only just starting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. What can I say: I did warn you this was madness. I'll try to update ofteHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA we all know that won't happen :'D But reviews will surely motivate me to keep the chapters coming n_n (Also, the names of the chapters are going to be songs with the word "angel" in the title, just because.)


	2. Like An Angel Passing Through My Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gilbert bullshits his way through Spanish

**THE PERKS OF BALCONING**

**2. Like An Angel Passing Through My Room (ABBA)**

“So… Are we ever going to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Oh, I don’t know… Your incredibly obvious crush on Antonio, maybe?”

Arthur put down the magazine he was reading and glared at Gilbert, who was zapping through the TV channels, trying to find something worth watching. “I don’t have a crush on anyone,” he stated.

“Yes, and I’m the Queen of England.”

For a brief moment, the picture of the eccentric German in place of his beloved Elizabeth crossed Arthur’s mind. It was a brief moment of sheer horror.

“Come on, Artie,” Gilbert insisted. “You’re only trying to fool yourself here.”

Arthur groaned and looked away. He really didn’t want to admit it — telling Gilbert he was right? Never! — but he had, indeed, developed a teeny-tiny crush on the handsome doctor. A crush that made him act like a bumbling idiot whenever he was around. That alone was mortifying, and adding to it the embarrassment of their two first meetings…

Let’s just say, Arthur was trying not to think too much about the whole thing because he knew there was no way Antonio would ever be interested in him.

~{§}~

“I’m not interested in him.”

“Yeah, sure.” Francis emptied a second sugar packet on his cup and stirred the coffee with delicate circular motions.

“I mean it,” Antonio protested as he unwrapped a candy bar. (It was a well-known fact among the hospital staff that caffeine turned Dr Fernández into an unstoppable mess. Everyone was grateful he relied on sugar whenever he needed a boost.)

“You mean to tell me you’ve never once thought he’s cute?” Francis asked, a knowing glint in his blue eyes. Antonio narrowed his eyes at him in a deadly glare, but his silence was all the answer Francis needed. He smiled in victory. “Ah, more than once, I’d say.”

“ _Maybe_ I’ve thought he’s cute; so what? That doesn’t mean anything. I think _you’re_ cute.”

“Awe, thanks!” Francis chirped. “But flattery won’t save you, dear. We’re dealing with _love_ here!”

“Oh my God you crazy Frenchman,” Antonio groaned, running a hand through his hair in despair. “Love? Seriously? It’s just a crush!”

“So you admit it!” Francis exclaimed in triumph.

Antonio opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to retort anything clever.

Eventually, he settled for giving Francis the middle finger.

~{§}~

Not for the first time, Arthur wondered who had left Gilbert in charge of the TV remote. He really wanted to walk over to his roommate’s bed, snatch the remote back from him, and change that stupid program he was being forced to watch.

Alas, that’s a difficult task to accomplish with a broken leg.

“What on this bloody Earth are we watching?” he whined when he couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s a very popular Spanish cultural program,” Gilbert answered.

Arthur glanced at the TV, where people with more plastic than meat in their faces were yelling at each other from expensive couches in a hideous set. He sure hoped the German was mistaken.

“It’s called _Sálvame_ ,” Gilbert went on. “Means _Salami_ ,” he added proudly.

That didn’t sound quite right.

“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked, surprised that the topic hadn’t come up before.

“Oh yes! I started learning in high-school. Haven’t practiced in a while, but I still remember the basics. Do you speak any language besides English?”

“Afraid not,” Arthur admitted. “I gave a try at Spanish once, but sadly languages are not my forte.”

Gilbert made a pondering noise. “I think Antonio would appreciate it if you spoke a little Spanish to him,” he said after a moment. “Even if it’s just a couple words.”

“You think?”

“Yes! Spaniards love it when foreigners give it a try at their language!”

Well, Arthur mused, surely if he spoke Spanish fluently his chances with Antonio would improve greatlyHE HAD NOT JUST THOUGHT THAT. He didn’t want to bother learning Spanish (a hellish language, that’s what it was) and, most importantly, he _did not want to impress his goddamn Greek God of a doctor_.

“I only remember like _hello_ , _goodbye_ and that stuff,” he tried to excuse himself. “It won’t work— _wouldn’t_ work even if I wanted to which I totally don’t.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Seriously.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re going to annoy me into doing it, right?”

“Yup.”

“Brilliant,” Arthur grumbled. “I’m not going to just say _‘Ola_ to him, though, that’s just lame.”

“You can tell him that you’re alright when he comes check on you,” Gilbert suggested.

“ _I’m alright_ ,” Arthur repeated, thoughtful. That was a simple phrase, he might be able to come up with it himself. “That’d be… _Yo estoy bueno_ , yes?”

Gilbert paused for a moment. _Yo estoy bueno_. Yeah, that seemed about right.

He gave Arthur a thumbs-up.

~{§}~

“I can’t believe you’re watching this,” were Antonio’s first words when he walked in room 314.

“I’m _learning_ about you _culture_ ,” Gilbert replied.

“Culture? With _Sálvame_? Wow.”

“You’ll lose braincells just by listening to those people, Gil,” Francis snickered.

“That’s not— _hey_!” he protested when Antonio snatched the remote from his hand and changed the channel into a plain and boring news report.

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Antonio lectured like a parent, waving the remote out of Gilbert’s reach. “Now be a good boy and let Francis give you your drugs.”

Sulking, the German did as told.

“Okay…” Antonio sighed, leaving the remote on Arthur’s nightstand. “I hope you’ll be more responsible with this than him.”

“Oh, um, yes, I will,” Arthur blabbered.

“How’s the leg today? Does it hurt?”

“No.” He smiled nervously, and then he added: “ _Yo estoy bueno_.”

Antonio blinked slowly, thinking he must’ve misheard. “I’m sorry?”

“I-I said _yo estoy bueno_ ,” Arthur repeated, painfully aware of not only Antonio’s, but now also Francis and Gilbert’s gazes on him.

“He means he’s fine,” Gilbert interjected.

Silence engulfed them. Antonio and Francis shared a look.

“No, sweetheart, that’s not what you said,” the nurse informed, trying not to burst out laughing.

Arthur paled and looked at Antonio for confirmation. He shook his head.

“You said you’re hot. But hot as in good-looking,” he explained.

Arthur paled even paler, and Antonio had to look away lest he laughed at his disgrace _at his face_.

His gaze landed on the TV, where the news report showed an interesting headline: _British woman at Benidorm complains that her vacations were ruined by too many Spaniards_.

“… you Brits are one curious folk.”

Arthur dropped his hands over his face.

Maybe if he shut his eyes very, very tightly, a brain artery would pop and he’d die.

~{§}~

“I swear I’m normal.”

Antonio stopped whatever he was doing on his leg and glanced at him. “I never doubted that,” he smiled, although there was a somewhat sarcastic glint in his eyes.

Arthur blushed red. “I’m just terrible at first impressions.”

“And seconds, and thirds…” Antonio snickered.

Arthur blushed redder.

“What he’ll eventually get to is asking if you’ll go out with him,” Gilbert called from his bed. His sunburnt face was covered on a yellowish paste; his grey hair was pushed off his face and kept in place with pink hairclips. He looked quite ridiculous.

“Is that so?” Antonio asked, amused.

Arthur blushed the reddest and swore he was going to murder Gilbert with his bare hands.

“Well,” Antonio started, “I’m sorry to say it like this, but I don’t date—”

“Men?” Arthur interrupted, a hopeful tone in his voice. It’d be a true shame if Antonio were only into women, but at least that would close the debate once and for all.

No way in Hell Arthur would be so lucky.

“I do date men,” Antonio admitted easily. “What I don’t date is—”

“Patients?” Arthur interrupted again.

“There’s nothing against doctor-slash-patient relationships in the hospital’s inner regulations,” Francis helpfully interjected.

Antonio glared at him. “As a matter of fact, I _don’t_ date patients. Personal reasons.” He made a pause. “But that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then?” Arthur asked curiously. “What is it that you don’t date?”

Antonio smiled again, and this time the malicious flash in his eyes was clear.

“I don’t date idiots who jump off balconies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Artie, you still have a chance :D
> 
> The program Sálvame (which translates to "save me", NOT "salami") is the worst of Spanish TV. Legit. It's famous people (but famous as in "I once had sex with a bullfighter") with little manners and less culture who only yell at each other and make money thanks to that.
> 
> And remember, kids:  
> Estar bien = to be fine  
> Estar bueno = to be hot


	3. There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart)

**THE PERKS OF BALCONING**

**3. There Must Be An Angel (Playing With My Heart) (Eurythmics)**

When Antonio walked in room 314, Arthur was alone, sulking in his bed.

“What’s with the long face?” he asked. “What happened?”

“Alistair, that’s what happened,” Arthur answered, irked.

“Your brother? What did he do?”

Arthur fidgeted with the smartphone in his hand. “He texted me. Said he was flying back home. He’s leaving me all alone in a foreign country!”

“That’s a dick move.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure what I’ll do when I get out of here.”

“You were halfway through your holidays when the _accident_ happened, right?” Antonio said, air-quoting the word ‘accident’. Arthur pouted, offended, but the doctor ignored it and went on: “Maybe you could look for a place to stay for when you leave the hospital and resume your vacations.”

“Maybe… I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Right now, I just want to murder Alistair.”

“Ah, siblings,” Antonio laughed. “Always a pain.”

“Tell me about it—I have four. What about you?”

“I’ve a brother. Well, half-brother, actually. And step-brother.”

Arthur blinked, confused. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“Our father was a dick who had a double life. Cheated on my mum with his, and the other way around. I found out I had a brother—half-brother—when I was sixteen.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It was a hard blow for my mum. But then, long story short, she dumped him, and so did João’s mum, and then they started to hang out together, one thing led to another, and are now happily married. So he’s also my step-brother, technically.”

Arthur chuckled in disbelief. “You’re telling me your mum married the woman her husband cheated on her with?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Wow. Your life is a soap-opera.”

“I hear that often,” Antonio laughed.

“What about your father?”

“I haven’t talked to him in years. It’s okay,” he assured, waving his hand nonchalantly. “My step-mum is lovely, and João and I get along wonderfully. All of us are great without my father in our lives.”

Arthur whistled, impressed. “All this almost makes my family sound normal,” he mused aloud.

Antonio had only met two Kirkland siblings, and even from that small sample he could tell that they were far from normal. Nothing wrong with that, though — normal is boring anyway. He was about to say that when the door was pushed open, interrupting him.

Francis walked backwards into the room, pulling with him a wheelchair in which Gilbert was sat, his plastered leg raised.

“Hello, Toño,” the nurse chirped happily. “Look, we made a friend on the way back from the toilet!”

“Hello, awesome people!” Gilbert called, throwing his hands in the air. “Prepare to meet my baby brother!”

This caught Antonio’s attention. He still hadn’t had the chance to meet Gilbert’s brother — “a proper German and the greatest lawyer”, in his patient’s own words — but he spoke so much of his younger brother (with an endearing mixture of pride and I’m-still-cooler-than-him) that Antonio felt he already knew the guy. “That’s great,” he smiled.

Francis glanced at him, and Antonio recognized that look as a warning. _Beware_.

Then someone else walked in and introduced himself: “Ludwig Beilschmidt, lawyer officially on holidays yet doomed to work because of my idiotic brother.”

And when Antonio’s eyes fell on him, he didn’t know where he should look first.

Ludwig was your typical German: tall and broad; blonde and blue-eyed. That was nice.

What wasn’t so nice was that Ludwig was also your typical German _tourist_.

His face, just like his brother’s, was completely sunburnt, except for a sunglasses-shaped white area. He wore a very unfashionable Hawaiian shirt, blue with colourful flowers and palm-trees, and khaki shorts. His arms and legs had also received one too many kisses from the Spanish sun and were coloured a painful shade of red. The final touch, the cherry on top of the cake, were his sandals with socks.

Antonio was certain that, if he googled _guiri_ , Ludwig would be the first picture to appear.

He really wanted to put his own head through a wall.

But he, too, was a professional and good at his job, so he instead put on a smile and shook Ludwig’s hand. “Doctor Fernández, or Antonio if you like” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleasure. Thanks for taking care of my brother. I know he can be a pain.”

“Oh, no, I’m delighted! He’s so much fun to be around.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow, as if saying _Yeah, sure_. “Either way, you’ll be pleased to know that I’m making progress on his case. Hopefully he’ll only have to pay a fine. And maybe we’ll soon get rid of that.” He pointed to Gilbert’s bed, where Francis was cuffing him again.

“That’s good,” Antonio nodded. _Unlike your fashion sense_ , he wanted to add, but kept it to himself. That’d be a rude thing to say.

~{§}~

**Me:** I can’t believe you  
 **Me:** You’re seriously leaving?

**Assholetair:** aye

**Me:** Why??

**Assholetair:** bc I can

**Me:** Alistair I swear to God…

**Assholetair:** bc our reservation at the hotel ended

**Me:** So? Move to another one?

**Assholetair:** nah  
 **Assholetair:** I miss Scotland  
 **Assholetair:** I havent seen the rain in weeks  
 **Assholetair:** Ive needs

**Me:** I’m your BROTHER and I’m in a HOSPITAL

**Me:** How can you be so calm about leaving? What about me?

**Assholetair:** youll figure something out  
 **Assholetair:** maybe try seducing ur sexy doctor ;)  
 **Assholetair:** kill 2 birds with 1 stone

**Me:** I AM SO NOT GOING TO DO THAT

**Assholetair:** dont tell me u dont want a piece of that ass…

**Me:** NO

**Assholetair:** u may not have noticed but hes got a fine ass

**Me:** We are NOT discussing this

**Assholetair:** why? u getting aroused? is he there? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

**Me:** God I hate you…

**Assholetair:** and thats why im leaving without u *finger guns*  
 **Assholetair:** ill drop by later with ur suitcase  
 **Assholetair:** will u want a kiss gbye?

**Me:** I want you to die

Arthur groaned and put his phone down. His brother always got on his nerves. He had only just met Ludwig and was already feeling sorry for him — Gilbert totally fit the annoying-older-brother type. Like Alistair, he probably loved getting involved in his little siblings’ love lives. That was something that had always driven Arthur crazy.

… but he had to admit that Antonio did have a fine ass.

He had checked.

Guilty.

~{§}~

“So, what did you think of dearest Ludwig’s outfit?” Francis asked maliciously.

“I felt the sudden urge to haul myself through the window,” Antonio answered without missing a beat as he unwrapped a lollipop.

“Same.”

Antonio sighed. “I hope Arthur dresses better…” he mumbled absentmindedly.

“Oh? And why would you care?” Francis asked, smirking.

“…” Antonio blushed madly when he realized what he had just said. “I don’t. I don’t care. Forget you ever heard that.”

“Impossible.”

“I did _not_ say that.”

“Sure.”

“I have to make a call.”

“You can run, but you can’t hide.”

“Shut up.”

Antonio left the locker room hurriedly, dialling a number on his phone. It was true that he wanted to make a phone call, but it wasn’t really urgent. He just wanted to put some distance between him and Francis before the teasing became unbearable.

Why exactly he had moved the topic from Ludwig to Arthur, he didn’t know.

Or rather, he didn’t want to think about it.

~{§}~

There was nothing on TV. Arthur turned it off and glanced at Gilbert. His roommate was on his bed, listening to music with headphones and, judging by the snores, sleeping. With the loud German out, there were few entertainments for Arthur.

His phone dinged. New text message.

**Assholetair:** artie  
 **Assholetair:** ill be there soon  
 **Assholetair:** with ur luggage  
 **Assholetair:** imma ask if u can keep it in ur room  
 **Assholetair:** if ur not allowed ill ask if theyve a spare room or something

Arthur bit back a smile as he read his brother’s messages. Maybe Alistair did care about him… deep inside. He typed a reply.

**Me:** Thanks

**Assholetair:** if none of those options r available  
 **Assholetair:** i was thinking

**Me:** Yes?

**Assholetair:** u seduce antonio and convince him to keep ur stuff in his place ;)

**Me:** Fuck you

Scratch that. Alistair was still a goddamn bastard.

**Me:** Rot in Hell  
 **Me:** I wish your plane crashes

**Assholetair:** i wish u never bang antonio

That was a low blow.

“Arthur? Are you busy?”

The Brit screeched, startled, and nearly flung his phone at Antonio’s face. The doctor flinched, his green eyes opened wide in shock, and for what seemed like an eternity they remained still, staring at each other. Eventually, both broke down in quiet, nervous chuckles.

“Sorry,” Arthur apologized. “You scared me.”

“No, it’s me who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you like that,” Antonio replied, awkwardly scratching his neck. “What were you doing?” He leant closer and Arthur was fast to lock his phone before he could read Alistair’s inappropriate comments.

“Just texting,” he answered. “With my brother.”

“Ah, sorry, was it important? I can come later.”

“No, no,” he assured quickly. “It’s fine. He was being a bother. What do you want?”

“Yes, that. Um…” He pouted, as if he were trying to find the proper words to express himself. “I have some friends who own a nice house around here. They usually rent it for tourists and, well, I, um, I gave them the approximate date you’ll leave the hospital and they said it will be free by then.” A bit awkwardly, he crossed his arms before the chest and shrugged. “They said you could rent it for a few days, if you want. And they’d make you a discount because, you know, friend of a friend and all that.” He smiled timidly. “So, you know, if you want to resume your holidays after we’re done with you, well—just tell me, and I’ll give them a call. Yeah? Cool?”

It took Arthur a moment to process all of Antonio’s words. It took him a little longer to realize he was staring at the doctor with a stunned (possibly stupid) expression on his face, eyes and mouth wide open, and that he probably looked like an idiot.

“I-I’m—That’s great, I mean—I-I’d love to,” he managed to stutter.

Those words seemed to wash Antonio’s nerves away. His face brightened up as a big grin split his face.

It was at that moment that Arthur made a mental correction: Antonio might have a fine ass, but his best feature was definitely his smile. There was no possible argument against that.

“Okay, cool,” Antonio said. He was still a bit fidgety, and it was seriously adorable. “I’ll tell my friends.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. It’s just—”

The door opened suddenly, interrupting him, and Alistair walked in the room, dragging a black suitcase behind him.

It’d been a beautiful moment, while it had lasted.

“Hey,” Alistair greeted them. He shook Antonio’s hand and ruffled Arthur’s hair. “They said I could leave this under your bed, so—there it goes. Thanks,” he said to Antonio when he rushed to help him slither the suitcase into its new place.

“You’re welcome. So, you’re flying back to Britain, I heard?”

“Ah, yes.” Alistair threw his arm around Antonio’s shoulders and dragged him along out of the room.

Forgotten behind, Arthur could only watch as his brother and the doctor chatted on the corridor. The way Alistair had stolen Antonio had already been bad enough, but now, seeing them laugh together, spotting the friendly way in which Alistair patted Antonio’s arm, witnessing how wonderfully they got along — that was gut-wrenching.

He knew perfectly well that Alistair was doing all that to make him jealous.

The chat came to an end and Antonio went for a handshake, but Alistair kissed his cheeks instead, Spanish style.

Well, it wasn’t working. Arthur wasn’t jealous, not at all.

Before walking out of his sight, his brother looked at him and wiggled his eyebrows up and down, a knowing glint in his eyes.

No, Arthur wasn’t jealous.

But he was going to castrate Alistair with his bare hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> João will show up later on. Alistair and Gilbert aren't the only big brothers whose only purpose in life is annoying the crap out of their little siblings. :P Also, the word guiri is a concept we have in Spain. It basically refers to the stereotypical tourist (mostly German and English) that we get every summer. The description I gave of Ludwig? That's a guiri.


	4. Send Me An Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added the names of the artists of the songs next to the chapter titles. Just because.

**THE PERKS OF BALCONING**

**4. Send Me An Angel (Scorpions)**

The day had started quite nicely.

Early in the morning, a policeman had come to remove Gilbert’s handcuff, which the German had celebrated by blasting hard rock from his phone until complaints from neighbouring rooms had forced him to lower the volume. Despite the outrageously loud music, Arthur found himself smiling at the German’s cheerfulness.

He wasn’t sure why, but he had ended up growing fond of Gilbert, his quirky attitude and limitless joy.

“I told y’all that little Luddy is the best lawyer _ever_!” Gilbert screamed in proud delight the moment Francis and Antonio walked through the door. “Look! Look at this!” He waved his hands in the air. “I am a free man!”

“Well, that’s a relief,” smiled Francis. “I was tired of having to uncuff and cuff you every time you needed to go to the toilet.”

“Congrats, Gil,” said Antonio. “You can now use your newly acquired freedom to go get some x-rays.”

Arthur snickered at the way Gilbert frowned and muttered that his friends were dicks who didn’t care about him and his happiness. Francis bickered in jest with him as he helped him into a wheelchair and rolled him away.

“What a pair of idiots…” Antonio sighed, shaking his head, but with a fond smile on his face.

“It’s part of their charm,” Arthur replied.

“Undoubtedly. You’re going to the x-rays after Gil, by the way.”

“Okay.”

“You both are progressing nicely, so unless we notice anything unusual, you should be out of here in a week, tops.”

“… okay.”

That really shouldn’t have felt like a punch in the guts. Normal people are thrilled to be released from the hospital, and with good reason. And while Arthur did want to leave the building to which he’d been confined for the last few weeks, resume his holidays and _relax_ , he was also sad by the prospect of also having to leave Francis and Gilbert and Antonio.

Mostly Antonio.

_Perhaps we could keep in touch after I’m gone_ , he thought, but didn’t dare to say it aloud. He was terrified of rejection.

Then there was a knock on the door and Arthur breathed deeply, thankful for the interruption.

“Yes?” Antonio called.

The door was pushed open and a head with long, wavy hair peeked in. “Hello?” the woman said, hesitant. “I’m looking for Gilbert Beilschmidt?”

“This is his room, but he’s not here right now. He’s only getting x-rays, so he’ll be back soon. You can wait here, if you like,” Antonio invited with a friendly smile.

“Ah, thanks.” Seemingly relieved, the woman walked in. “I’m Eliza.”

“Yes, of course! Gil talks about you all the time. I’m his doctor; you can call me Antonio. Oh, and this is Arthur.”

Arthur waved at her from his bed. Eliza raised an eyebrow at him, probably wondering if what he’d done to end up in like that had been just as stupid as Gilbert mistaking a huge Russian for her and kissing him by accident. (Looking at her now, Arthur really couldn’t understand how Gil had committed that mistake. Just how drunk had he been?)

During the five minutes it took Francis and Gilbert to come back, Antonio shifted between doing some small talk with Eliza and moving Arthur into a wheelchair so that he was ready for his trip to the x-rays. Eliza was really nice and chatted naturally with the doctor (she had a very pretty eastern accent, Arthur noticed), but she refused to tell the motive of her visit. She did admit that she would have come sooner, but she had only been allowed after the lawyer (Ludwig) had made his magic and left Gil free of most charges.

“I’m certain Gil will be thrilled to see you here,” said Antonio.

Speaking of the devil, Francis chose that moment to enter the room, Gilbert propelling his wheelchair behind him. “We’re back,” the nurse chirped.

“I love a good dose of radiation in the morning,” Gilbert joked. Then he spotted the visitor. “Eliza! You came to see me!” he exclaimed, his whole face brightening up. He looked like a kid who had just been offered unlimited money to spend at a toy store.

“Hello, Gilbert,” she smiled.

At Antonio’s signal, he and Francis moved Gil back to his bed and promptly left with Arthur.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Arthur couldn’t help but wonder what the couple was talking about.

~{§}~

When they came back after the x-rays, Eliza was already gone and Gilbert was gloomy.

“She said she met someone else while I was in here,” he mumbled, downcast. “She’s going to go travel with him. Oh, but it was nice knowing me.”

The others shared a sad look.

“At least she waited until she could come tell you in person,” Francis offered.

“Yeah, I supposed that was nice of her,” he scoffed back.

“This was her loss, Gil, not yours,” Antonio intervened.

“… you think so?”

“You’re a cool guy,” said Arthur, surprising everyone (even himself). “She barely knew you — she has no idea what she’s lost.”

An unsure smile made it to Gilbert’s face. “Thanks, guys.”

~{§}~

Despite the genuine compliments and attempts at cheering up, the day that had started so wonderfully well was now a bad one.

However, it was still early, and there was much room for improvement.

And improvement did come, in the form of João.

Lunch time was around the corner when Antonio walked in the room, a way too happy smile on his face that betrayed some nervousness, and announced: “Hey everyone, meet my brother!”

Francis, who already knew him, didn’t look away from Gilbert’s face, which he was treating for the sunburn, and simply said: “Hello, João, nice to see you again.”

Then João walked into the room, and Arthur had to hold back a gasp. “When you said _brother_ , did you by any chance mean _clone_?!” he exclaimed.

Indeed, the resemblance was uncanny. João’s hair was longer (and neatly kept in a ponytail), but it was the same beautiful chocolate colour as Antonio’s, and his eyes were as green, his skin as tanned, even his expressions when they shared a look were the same.

“If anything, _he’d_ be the clone,” João said. By his tone, it was obvious he had said this a million times before — clearly the brothers were _very_ used to being told how alike they looked. “I’m older.”

“ _I’m older_ ,” Antonio mimicked in mockery. “And I’m handsomer. Besides, we’re not equal. Look, he’s got a mole _right here_ ,” he said, poking a spot right next to João’s right eye.

“It’s not a mole, it’s a _beauty mark_ ,” he corrected, grabbing his brother’s finger and pushing it away from his face.

“ _It’s a beauty mark_ ,” Antonio mocked again.

Then Gilbert said: “Look at that, Arthur, if Antonio keeps rejecting you, you can go out with his brother instead,” and all the blood drained form Antonio’s face; his smile froze on his lips.

“Huh?” João’s gaze travelled from Gilbert to Arthur, who blushed and looked away, and shamelessly checked him out. “Antonio is rejecting you? Wha—?” He turned to his brother. “Antonio, are you stupid?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Arthur’s abandoned puzzle book, opened it at a random page, and scribbled down a phone number. “There. Call me,” he winked at Arthur as he returned the book.

“I’m not stupid,” Antonio grumbled, perhaps a tad too mad at the silly insult.

“He rejects Arthur because he thinks _he’s_ the stupid one,” Francis explained, still busy with Gilbert’s sunburnt face.

“Really? Why?”

“I attempted to jump into the pool from a balcony and broke a leg,” Arthur confessed.

“Ah, the famous balconing. Yes, I’ve heard of that. But—Hey, Antonio, that’s so unfair!” He turned to his brother and glared at him. “You’ve also had bad experiences with balconies.”

Everyone turned their entire attention to Antonio, who had gone even paler than before. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he was able to speak: “ _That_ was a completely different thing,” he said, slowly.

“Was it, though?”

“Maybe you should tell us so that we may judge,” Gilbert snickered.

“Please do,” Francis and Arthur practically begged at the same time.

“Please don’t,” Antonio mumbled, already knowing that his plea would go unheard.

“Oh, well, it happened many years ago…” João said, trailing off on purpose to elevate their curiosity. “I was twenty-two, so Antonio here must’ve been eighteen or nineteen. Just a baby straight out of high-school, eh?” he laughed as he nudged his mortified brother.

“Anyway,” he went on, “we were in Pamplona for San Fermín, which, for the uncultured, is a big festival in which the main attraction consists on setting loose a bunch of bulls on the streets and run away from them. So there we were,” he patted Antonio’s shoulder, “running like the two crazy youngsters we were, when we noticed that a bull was getting close to us. Like, real close. I’m talking about a five-hundred kilos beast with pointy horns that’s about to run over us. The most sensible thing to do is get out of its way; we could’ve easily jumped over the wood barrier on the side of the street and we would’ve been safe. But no, the genius here thought it’d be smarter to jump _up_ and leave himself hanging from a random balcony.”

“You did the exact same thing!” Antonio protested. No one listened to him.

“At least it did work and the bull passed. All the bulls, actually. Then the idiot jumped back on the ground and broke his ankle.”

“I didn’t break it—I _sprained_ it,” Antonio corrected. “And it’s a completely different thing.”

“Hmm.” Arthur bobbed his head. “I don’t know, it sounds just as stupid to me.”

Antonio glared at him and then frowned, annoyed, when he noticed that he was saving João’s number to his phone. “I wasn’t drunk,” he argued.

“Sure you weren’t,” João scoffed. “We spent two days drinking only _kalimotxo_ ,” he whispered loudly to the others, as if he were sharing a secret that wasn’t so secret.

“I was only a little tipsy,” Antonio protested again. “And it was pure survival instinct.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

“Visit time is over,” the doctor finally snapped. He grabbed his brother’s arm and dragged him to the door, mumbling under his breath something about never ever inviting him over for lunch again. João put a hand next to his ear, mimicking a phone, and mouthed _call me_ at Arthur; Antonio noticed and doubled his strength until he finally pushed him outside and slammed the door closed. _Well, fuck_. He sighed and turned to the others, raising a menacing finger. “Not a word.”

Gilbert raised his hands in an innocent gesture; Francis closed an imaginary zipper over his lips; Arthur fanned himself with his puzzle book. All of them had amused smiles on their faces.

“You should bring over your brother more often,” Gilbert said, breaking the silence after not even a minute.

“Why? So he can keep sharing embarrassing stories form my past?”

“Exactly.”

“I support that,” Francis intervened. “I want to know how many anecdotes you haven’t told me.”

“There aren’t that many,” Antonio growled. He took off his white gown (he’d have to take a detour to leave it in his locker) and was about to open the door to leave when he glanced at Arthur. The Englishman was nonchalantly skimming through a gossip magazine. He looked totally unconcerned. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” asked Antonio.

“Hm? Oh, me?” Arthur looked at him with a smug smile. “But you told us not to say anything.”

“It’s not like those two assholes obeyed.”

Francis and Gilbert smiled and waved, as if they’d received a compliment instead of an insult.

“Well…” Arthur put aside the magazine and tapped a finger on his chin in a theatrical pondering motion. “I’ll just say that it really is impossible for something to happen between us.”

That took Antonio by surprise. He glanced at the other two, maybe trying to see in their faces that they had heard the same as him, then looked back at Arthur. “Why—Why do you say that?”

Arthur smiled mischievously. “You don’t date idiots who jump off balconies; I don’t date idiots who run away from bulls for a pastime.”

“Ha-ha,” Antonio fake-laughed. “And you wouldn’t make an exception for me?”

“Only if you make one for me.”

Stunned, it took Antonio a few seconds to react. “At least your pickup lines are improving,” he finally said, unable to hold back a sincere smile. “But I still don’t date patients,” he added quickly before leaving.

Arthur watched him leave, satisfied. Then he turned to look at Francis and Gilbert, whose gazes he could feel on himself. They nodded in approval and gave him a thumbs-up. Arthur returned the gesture.

And then he took his phone and deleted João’s number.

~{§}~

No one (except perhaps Antonio) could have thought the day could get any better after that.

Yet, somehow, it did.

It was that time in the afternoon when there isn’t a single interesting program on TV and time moves excruciatingly slowly. Arthur wanted to leave his bed, make himself a nice cup of tea, go for a walk. He glared at his plastered leg — and more intensely to that one spot that Alistair had signed before leaving — and silently commanded it to heal faster. To Hell if that meant leaving Antonio earlier— _he wanted to get out of there_.

The doctor walked into the room just then, a timid smile on his face (he no doubt was still a bit mortified by the story João had shared) but green eyes gleaming. He brought a box of chocolates to share with them.

Arthur reconsidered his priorities.

“And Francis?” he asked as he accepted one sweet.

“He was on his way. He’ll be here any minute.”

“It’d be rude to eat all the chocolate before he comes, right?” joked Gilbert as he not-so-jokingly grabbed a fistful.

“Yes.” Antonio moved the box out of his reach and ate one. “I shouldn’t be letting you two eat this in the first place.”

“Thank you, oh mighty doctor,” said Arthur in jest, and Antonio made an exaggerate bow, chuckling.

There was a knock on the door. Before anyone could answer, it was pushed open, just a crack, and Francis’ head appeared. “Um, visitor for Gilbert Beilschmidt,” he announced, hesitant.

Gilbert shrugged nonchalantly, assuming — like everyone else — that it was Ludwig. “Sure, let him in.”

“But, um… I’m not sure—”

“What’s the problem? Let him in!”

“… okay.”

Francis pushed the door completely open and walked in.

Behind him was the biggest man Arthur had ever seen.

Gilbert gasped. “ _Vladimir_!” he shrieked.

The Russian stopped dead on his track and tilted his head to the side. The resemblance to a confused puppy was ridiculous for a man his size.

Arthur remembered the description Gilbert had given him of the man who had left him in that state ( _he was mega-huge, man, I’m sure he wrestles bears as a pastime in Mother Russia_ ) and for the first time he didn’t deem it an exaggeration. That guy could wrestle a bear into submission and then still have strength left to go drink vodka with comrade Dmitri.

“Vladimir?” the Russian spoke then. His voice was surprisingly soft for such a big body. “No, no — Ivan.”

Antonio’s eyes jumped between Gilbert and Vladimir (who was apparently called Ivan), dreading that another incident may occur. The Russian could probably knock him to the ground with a simple flick, but he wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near his patient if he had ill intentions. He eyed in mistrust how Ivan moved a hand inside his coat ( _Who in his right mind wears a_ coat _in_ summer _in_ Spain _?_ ); his body tensed, ready to spring into action if the Russian pulled out an ice axe to play _Whac-A-Trotsky_ with them.

But when Ivan pulled out his hand, he was holding a giant sunflower, which he handed to Gilbert as he blushed and said: “Sorry about leg.”

The astounded silence that followed was deafening.

Francis had a hand on his chest and a dreamy expression, clearly moved by the unexpected turn of events.

Antonio was mentally smacking himself for having misjudged Ivan. The man was basically a giant teddy bear!

Arthur was staring at the sunflower, wondering how the hell the Russian had carried it around without damaging it.

And Gilbert… His expression was unreadable. The sunburn on his face made it impossible to discern if he was livid or blushing or neither; his eyes didn’t leave Ivan, but it was hard to tell whether he was looking at him or at the flower in his hand; his lips kept pouting, maybe trying to stop his jaw from dropping, perhaps trying to shut in an insult.

The clock was moving, is possible, even slower that before.

And then Gilbert smiled, erasing all the tension. “Thanks,” he said, reaching for the flower.

Ivan hurried to his bedside and gave him the sunflower. Then he said something in German. Gilbert nodded and replied something else.

As they chatted, Arthur, Antonio and Francis shared a look, all of them silently asking the others if they spoke any German. None of them did.

Ivan stuttered; Gilbert laughed lightly.

They shook hands.

Ivan left.

Gilbert stared at the sunflower in thought as he ate a chocolate from his previous loot. There were three confused gazes on him.

Antonio coughed to get his attention. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Oh, he wanted to apologize.”

“Was that all?” inquired Francis, suspicion in his voice.

“Well… He may have asked me out…”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “W-What did you tell him?”

Gilbert glanced at them, blinking in confusion when he saw the incredulous expressions on their faces.

“I said yes, of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The anecdote João tells is based on a hilarious fanart I saw on Tumblr. It's exactly that: Spain and Portugal hanging from a balcony as a bull passes trotting below them. I love it~ And boy, did I have fun writing all of Ivan's scene! XD Also, Spain thinking that Russia is a giant teddy bear is canon and you can't change my mind.


	5. Angel In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The happy ending ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! I hope you enjoy it n_n

**THE PERKS OF BALCONING**

**5. Angel In My Heart (Mick Jagger)**

Arthur sat down on a bench and rubbed his leg. He hadn’t walked much, but considering it had spent the last few weeks wrapped in plaster and immobilized, it wasn’t surprising that it complained after the tiniest bit of exercise.

“Don’t force it,” Antonio had said, “but don’t let it be idle either. You need to do proper rehab, or you’ll carry a scar for the rest of your life.”

Then he had redirected him to another doctor, one with more experience in the whole rehabilitation for broken bones area, and that had been the last Arthur had seen of him.

Before leaving, however, Antonio had handed him a package badly wrapped with a newspaper. “It’s a piece of your cast,” he said. “You should keep it as a reminder.”

“Oh.” Arthur blushed when he accepted it. “I don’t need this to remember you, though.”

His eyes gleamed in amusement. “A reminder that jumping off balconies is a terrible idea,” he completed his previous sentence.

“ _Oh_.” And there he was again, wishing the earth would just swallow him.

“I know you don’t need anything to remember me — I’m pretty much unforgettable,” Antonio went on, jest in his voice, as he scribbled down something on a paper that he then folded and handed to Arthur. “Here.”

“What’s this? Your phone number?”

“You wish. It’s my friend’s address. The phone number is hers as well.”

“Any chance I can get yours?”

Antonio hadn’t replied. He just smiled mischievously at him and left.

The memory was still too fresh, and Arthur kept revisiting it… and hurting himself by doing so. He really liked Antonio, and it pained him to think that he may never see him again. _João’s number is still on your puzzle book_ , a quiet voice whispered in his mind. Arthur shook his head, trying to convince himself he didn’t like João that way.

Sure, he was a fun guy. And sure, he, too, was ultra-hot.

But he wasn’t Antonio.

“Hi!” a female voice called suddenly by his side, startling him. “Are you Arthur?”

“Ah! Yes, it’s me. Emma?”

“Yep!”

He had spoken to Emma before on the phone (she was Antonio’s friend, the one who was going to rent him a place to stay) and they had agreed to meet there. Her accent, though not as thick as others Arthur had heard, had told him she wasn’t Spanish either. He couldn’t quite place it, but if he were to guess, he’d say she was Dutch or Belgian. Seeing her now — blonde hair, green eyes, rosy cheeks — Arthur knew he hadn’t been mistaken.

“It’s the place far from here?” he asked, standing up. His leg protested and he winced.

“Oh no, no, it’s just around the corner.” Then she gasped, realizing her mistake. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I’d forgotten you’d broken a leg! I wouldn’t have made you walk otherwise!”

“Don’t worry,” Arthur smiled a bit painfully. “I could’ve taken a cab here, but I didn’t, so it’s really my fault that it hurts now.”

Emma shook her head at him, and Arthur could almost hear her thoughts: _Idiot_. Whatever. Arthur could take an insult. After all, he had four older brothers.

“Let’s go, then.”

~{§}~

The place was a nice flat just around the corner, as Emma had promised. Their place was a seventh story (thank goodness the building had an elevator, or Arthur would have collapsed halfway up the stairs), which promised a formidable view, and Arthur got a little hyped at the thought.

They were greeted by who Arthur assumed was Emma’s brother: a very tall guy whose blond hair didn’t seem to have heard about gravity. His height, combined with the cold glare in his eyes and a scar over his eyebrow, didn’t make him look particularly friendly, and Arthur fidgeted uncomfortably as he was scanned by calculating eyes.

Emma, on the other hand, was completely unfazed. “Hello, Vin,” she greeted, pushing her brother out of the way and walking in the flat, dragging Arthur’s luggage behind her. “Oh, look, you already made the lease.” She grabbed a paper from a table and studied it carefully. “Oi, Vincent!” she yelped indignant after a while. “This is the usual pricing! We agreed that we’d make him a discount because he’s a friend of a friend!”

“Antonio is not my friend,” Vincent grumbled.

“He is mine! Change this numbers right now,” she commanded, slapping the lease on her brother’s chest. “I’ll show Arthur the place in the meantime. Why are you still out there? Come on.”

Arthur nodded and followed her inside, dodging Vincent with a quiet, high-pitched “ _excuse me_ ”. Though, considering the scene he had just witnessed, perhaps Vincent wasn’t the sibling he was supposed to be afraid of.

The flat was mostly a big living-room that included a kitchen on one corner, a couch and a TV on the other, a balcony (Arthur couldn’t help but smile at it), and a table with four chairs in the middle. Emma let him enjoy the view for a moment before directing him into a corridor with doors at the sides: two bedrooms, a toilet, and a bathroom.

Arthur chose one of the bedrooms — the one with a king-size bed, because since he was alone, he might as well sleep like a king — and Emma walked in with him to dump his luggage on the bed.

“I’m sorry about my brother,” she apologized, shaking her head. “He’s a bit too stingy sometimes.”

“So he _is_ Antonio’s friend, then?” Arthur asked, curious.

Emma chuckled. “No, not really. Vincent dislikes him because he thinks he’s into me, and you know, older brothers can be very protective over their little sisters.” She rolled her eyes, and Arthur could tell Vincent had been a constant headache for her in many aspects. “I know Vin means well, but he’s a bother. And he doesn’t seem to get that Antonio likes penises more than an idiot likes a pencil. Anyway—let’s move on, shall we?”

~{§}~

“Hang on, hang on—you did _what_?!”

Antonio smiled at Francis. “I said—”

“No, I heard you. What I meant to ask was, _why would you do such a thing_?”

“I thought it was nice?”

“ _Nice_?” Francis facepalmed. “Antonio, dear, that wasn’t _nice_.”

“But—”

“Did you not stop to think that he may not notice?”

“…”

“Oh, boy, you are so stupid.”

“…”

“You’re supposed to be the smart one here, Toni.”

“… I’m a goddamn idiot.”

“Yes, yes you are. Now you’d better figure something out.”

“… fuck… Oh, wait, I got a text.”

~{§}~

After they finished all the paperwork, Emma and Vincent (or rather, Emma in behalf of both) had wished Arthur a happy stay and left, and Arthur had pretty much collapsed on his bed. It had been a long day; he’d unpack later.

Yawning, he reached for his backpack, which laid on the floor next to the bed, and searched for his phone inside it. However, the first thing his hand grabbed happened to be the wrapped piece of cast.

Arthur had almost forgotten about it already.

“ _It’s a reminder_ ,” Antonio’s voice said in his head.

A reminder that jumping off balconies was a terrible idea. Arthur already had a broken leg to remember that.

“Stupid,” he mumbled, tossing the whole package into the trashcan.

It really was the stupidest parting gift he could have gotten.

So why did he suddenly feel so guilty?

“Oh, bollocks.”

Seconds later, he was fishing it out of the trashcan and unwrapping it. Maybe he could get creative with it; paint it or something. Surely if he googled “what to do with a piece of cast” he’d get interesting results.

Then he finished unwrapping it, and nearly had a heart attack.

It had already been painted, but instead of having Van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ or a fancy signature or even a badly-drawn penis, it had a sequence of numbers that resembled way too much a phone number, followed by a phrase he had to reread a few times:

_You’re no longer my patient ;)_

First, Arthur focused on breathing.

Then he put a lot of effort into not squeaking like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert.

And then he pounced on his backpack and emptied it on the bed, desperately searching for his phone.

~{§}~

**Desconocido:** Antonio?

**Yo:** Sí, ¿quién es?

**Desconocido:** Uh… Sorry, not Spanish. It’s Arthur.

**Yo:** AH!!!  
 **Yo:** THANK GOD  
 **Yo:** I take it you unwrapped my gift? n_n”

**Arthur:** Yes. That was a dick move.

**Yo:** Sorry… n_n”  
 **Yo:** Francis was just saying the same thing  
 **Yo:** Well, he said I was an idiot  
 **Yo:** BUT IT WORKED IN YOUR FACE FRANCIS

**Arthur:** I wholeheartedly agree with Francis, but perhaps don’t tell him I said that.

**Yo:** Thisis francis I stole antonios phone  
 **Yo:** Excuse the grammr hes chasin me  
 **Yo:** Hes not generlly this stupid youll hve to forgive him  
 **Yo:** But given tht your two idiots in love im seting up a date for u two  
 **Yo:** Hes free tmrow  
 **Yo:** Hell pick yu up t noon  
 **Yo:** cnlabafle &$*#%/$”bavhjs  
 **Yo:** SORRY  
 **Yo:** I’m going to kill Francis =_=  
 **Yo:** (this is Antonio again btw)

**Arthur:** … yeah, I figured.  
 **Arthur:** Are you still taking me out tomorrow?

**Yo:** Do you want to?

**Arthur:** Yes.  
 **Arthur:** I’d love to.  
 **Arthur:** If you want, too, of course.

**Yo:** Yeah, I do, it’d be lovely n_n  
 **Yo:** I’m still murdering Francis, tho

**Arthur:** Don’t.

**Yo:** Francis is reading this over my shoulder and he says he’s touched you worry about his wellbeing

**Arthur:** I don’t care about the Frenchman. Kill him, for all I mind.  
 **Arthur:** But we can’t go on a date if you’re in jail.

**Yo:** That’s a solid argument  
 **Yo:** I’ll see you tomorrow then?

**Arthur:** Yes.  
 **Arthur:** Looking forward to it.

“Awww,” Francis cooed. “Aren’t you the cutest?”

“You’ve got three seconds to run,” Antonio warned, locking his phone, but when he turned to glare at him there was a happy smile on his face.

It’d been a long time since Francis had seen such a joyous look on him.

Still smiling, Antonio raised his hand and flicked Francis on the nose.

“ _Ouch_!” Francis recoiled and rubbed his hurting nose.

“That’s for stealing my phone. And _this_ —”

Francis flinched, expecting another aggression, only to be pleasantly surprised when, instead, Antonio wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly.

“This is for being such a good friend.”

Francis laughed gleefully and returned the hug. He knew what Antonio really meant to say: _This is for taking matters into your own hands and setting my date with Arthur because it would have taken me ages to actually ask him out because we’re both idiots_.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “But I’ll want every single detail of your date.”

“Every single one? That might be a lot.”

“Oh, I should hope so.”

~{§}~

The following morning, Arthur was a nervous mess.

He changed clothes like ten times, combed his hair in six different ways, paced around the flat rehearsing in his head how he’d greet Antonio. At some point, he tried to do some reading to relax, but stopped when, after half an hour, he’d been staring at the same paragraph without absorbing anything.

When it was finally noon, too soon and too late and the same time, he felt like he was going to vomit his heart.

And when there was a knock on the door at ten past, he was suddenly terrified. So many things could go wrong! He wasn’t ready! He shouldn’t have changed clothes that last time, he looked better before! Was he actually going to go out with that hair?

Too late.

Arthur took a deep breath and opened the door.

Antonio was standing on the hallway. He was wearing a simple white shirt and jeans, a casual attire that combined with his messy hair. His stance was relaxed, but his green eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Hi,” he smiled.

“Hi,” he mimicked. “It’s weird seeing you without your gown.”

“It’s weird seeing you without your leg in a cast,” Antonio replied, cheekily winking at him.

Arthur laughed, all his worries washed away.

And the rest of the day was simply perfect.

Antonio had planned the date to the detail. He showed Arthur around, avoiding all the “disgusting touristic spots” and taking him instead to delightful hidden places not many knew about. He invited him for lunch at a nice little restaurant so that he may try “actual food for once, and not that garbage you have in England”; Arthur made a show of being offended, but in the end admitted that no, there was no place in England that could compete with Spanish food. Antonio had even planned ahead on where to stop for rest, knowing full well that Arthur’s leg was still recovering.

Not for the first time, Arthur wondered if there was anything wrong with that guy.

And for the very first time, he thought that he wouldn’t mind spending much more time with him. Perhaps only the rest of his life.

~{§}~

It was starting to get dark when they finally got back to Arthur’s place.

Antonio insisted on accompanying him all the way to the door, and once there, Arthur had invited him in.

“I don’t have much to offer you,” he apologized as he opened the door. “Only a coffee.”

“Oh, that’s a terrible idea,” Antonio laughed. “Unless you want to see me turn into a hyperactive squirrel.”

_That sounds very tempting_ , Arthur thought. What he said instead was: “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

“You didn’t leave a single window open, all the blinds are up, and the flat is facing west,” Antonio analysed quickly. “Yeah, you basically turned the whole place into a massive oven.”

“Cheers,” Arthur grumbled, rushing to open the balcony doors as wide as he could. And then, because he was dying for some cool air, he stepped outside and breathed deeply. “God, that’s better.”

Suddenly, Antonio was behind him, and his voice sounded amused when he said: “Don’t jump.”

Arthur snorted. The teasing would never end, right? No problem, he could take it. He could even counterattack. ( _Quick mental note: recover João’s number from the puzzle book and ask for more stupid anecdotes involving Antonio._ ) At that very moment, though, countering with another silly retort didn’t seem like the most appealing option.

Standing there, on a seventh story balcony looming over the city, which was starting to light up, Arthur felt alive; he felt as if he could take the entire world. He felt braver than he’d ever felt before.

“Why would I jump?” he said, turning around to face Antonio. Before he could reply, he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him a little closer. “All I want is up here.”

Antonio’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was clearly taken aback by the sudden move Arthur had made on him. _Your pickup lines are improving_ , he had said not so long ago. “When did you get so smooth?” he asked now, an astonished grin on his face, but his focused eyes not leaving Arthur’s.

Arthur shrugged and moved a little closer, his heart skipping a beat when he felt Antonio’s arms around his waist. “I think you bring out the best in me,” he replied.

Next thing he knew, Antonio’s lips were on his, and Arthur didn’t waste a second. He kissed back, wrapping his arms around Antonio’s neck, pushing him closer, and lost himself in the kiss, the taste of his lips, the feeling of their bodies pressed together, the previously unknown soaring joy in his heart.

That was a goddamn fantastic kiss.

And it was only the first of many.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after! :D I said this is the last chapter and that's true, but I plan to write an epilogue, so the story is not over yet. Just FYI.
> 
> Oh, and "to like something more than an idiot likes a pencil" is an actual expression we have here in Spain. I thought you might like to know that :P Also, the texting bit is read from Antonio's phone, which of course is in Spanish. It's pretty much obvious, but "yo" = "me" and "desconocido" = "unknown" (as in "unknown number").
> 
> Thanks for reading! Reviews are very welcome n_n


	6. Epilogue - Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soft epilogue, because who doesn't like a happy ending?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the epilogue! I wrote this yesterday in one sitting (I stayed up till 3 AM why am I like this :'D) and I've only edited once this morning, so excuse any typos or funny sentences or whatever there might be. Hope you enjoy it! n_n

**THE PERKS OF BALCONING**

**Epilogue. Heaven (Bryan Adams)**

 Antonio opened the door to his apartment and walked in, tossed his keys at the hall table, and announced himself: “I’m home.”

“How was work?” Arthur’s voice called from the living room. He was sprawled on the couch, reading a book that he put down the moment Antonio walked in.

“Summer has officially started.”

“You got a British tourist with a broken limb as a result of jumping from a balcony?”

“I got two.”

“Idiots.”

“Oh yes.” Antonio laughed and sat next to Arthur, pecking him on the lips. “Idiots, all of them.”

“It’s a good thing you’re going to be away for the summer then.”

“God yes. Oh, I talked to Francis about our road-trip plans and he kept insisting we go to Paris.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Did you mention it’s supposed to be a road-trip around Spain?”

“Yes, but you know him. João, too, insisted we visit like a trillion places in Portugal.”

“We could consider that. Portugal is virtually the same as Spain.”

“Congratulations, you’ve just offended two countries with just one sentence.”

Arthur smiled, smug, as if he were admitting that that had been his intention from the start. Antonio was torn between smacking him or kissing him again.

“Any news on Gilbert?” Arthur asked after a moment.

“Well…” Antonio sighed. “He and Ivan are still undecided about the date, but last I heard they were considering sometime in September?”

“I still think they got engaged too early.”

“They’d been together for over two years.”

“And already been engaged and undecided about something as simple as a date for the wedding for nearly one,” Arthur replied. “Ludwig is more concerned about all that than either of them.”

“They’re in no hurry. Let them take their time, Mister Grumpy.”

Arthur frowned at him and smacked him with his book.

“Grumpy,” Antonio repeated, this time smiling mischievously.

“Whatever. Ah! I made a list of places we should visit in our road-trip.”

Arthur grabbed his phone and started to read a list out-loud, but Antonio was barely listening. All his attention was focused on the way his lover’s lips moved as he spoke, on the beautiful freckles that adorned his cheeks and nose, on his tousled blond hair and the way it fell on his face.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

“Do you know which is a very pretty town?” he interrupted.

Arthur stopped reading and glanced at him. “Which one?”

“Cuenca. Wanna see it?” Antonio winked suggestively at him.

Confused, Arthur blinked slowly. “Is… Is that supposed to be a code for something?” he asked, genuinely confused.

Of course he hadn’t caught it. Antonio pursed his lips to hold back a smile, but he was unable to hide the amused glint in his eyes as he lovingly stared at Arthur. “You’re adorable,” he finally said.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Come here,” Antonio demanded, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist and pulling him close.

“Not until you tell me—hey, Antonio, tell me what the fuck that was supposed to—Antonio!”

Growling (yet enjoying the attention at the same time), Arthur tried to pry free from Antonio’s octopus hold.

“Noooo,” Antonio whined when he attempted to stand up. “Where are you going?”

“To jump off the balcony, see if I find myself a man who loves me more,” Arthur replied.

And then, suddenly, he was being pulled back with more strength than before, and seconds later he was sat on Antonio’s lap, his breath warm against his ear when he whispered: “Good luck with that.”

Arthur shivered when Antonio’s lips caressed his neck, first with soft nibbles, then with open-mouthed kisses. “T-That thing you said before…” he gasped, trying to control his voice so as not to show how much it was affecting him. “It was something dirty, wasn’t it?”

“Perhaps…” Antonio smiled against his skin, and Arthur gave in.

He turned in Antonio’s arms, changing from sitting on his lap to a more comfortable—and dominant— straddling, and, without missing a second, grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him on the mouth.

Antonio was happy to kiss back, and happier to slide a hand under Arthur’s clothes. He lived for moments like this, just the two of them sharing their all with the other. He wouldn’t change them for anything.

“Antonio…” Arthur mumbled when they parted, and there was something in his voice that let him know there was a question coming next.

“Yes?”

“We… We’ve been together for just as long as Gil and Ivan, right?”

“Give or take a few days, but basically, yes. Why?”

Arthur bit his lip and looked away. “Are they going too fast or is it us who are going too slow?” he asked, a certain quivering in his voice.

“They have their pace; we follow ours,” Antonio answered, as if it were the simplest thing in the universe. He took a hand to Arthur’s cheek and made him look at him. “It doesn’t matter if it’s _fast_ or _slow_ , only that we’re comfortable with it."

A quiet smile made it to Arthur’s face. He put a hand over Antonio’s and placed a kiss on his palm. “I am comfortable.”

“That’s good,” Antonio breathed out, staring at Arthur with spellbound eyes. “That’s very good.”

Carefully, he laid Arthur back on the couch and crawled over him. They kissed again as eager hands started to explore, getting rid of annoying clothes that wouldn’t let them reach the skin beneath.

As Arthur gasped in his ear and scratched his back, Antonio thought that he, too, was comfortable with their pace.

But the engagement ring he’d been hiding in his nightstand for a couple of days surely was getting impatient.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-Spaniards must be very confused about Antonio's comment about Cuenca. Hehe. So there's this expression in Spain, "poner mirando para Cuenca" (which translates to "to put someone looking at Cuenca", more or less?) which basically means to have sex. Don't ask me why, because I have no fucking clue, but it's a very common expression here in Spain. (It's also very common to jokingly ask people from Cuenca where they put people to look at :P) So, there. You now know some more stupid info about Spain you may never use in your life. You're welcome. (But I'll also add that the city of Cuenca is indeed very pretty and you should check it out if you ever have the chance.)
> 
> Aaaaand this is it! Thanks to everyone who's read this and taken a moment to leave a review, y'all are the best and I love you! n_n One last review will be very welcome (also, it's my birthday tomorrow, so, like, I'd appreciate it even more :P)
> 
> Cheers!


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